


a time for chances

by Ambience (InStress_Panic)



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Don't copy to another site, F/M, Fishing, Fluff, Gen, I will take those facts with both hands and shake them until something comes out, It can be considered fluff i guess???, No Beta, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship, We know literally like 4.5 things about Sitri, because you're the failed vessel of HER mom which neither of you want to talk about, life is hard when your mom finds it difficult to bond with you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:07:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27993501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InStress_Panic/pseuds/Ambience
Summary: Sitri does not like fishing, but she does want to make friends. When Captain Jeralt invites her, she accepts.It... does not go as well as she had hoped.
Relationships: Jeralt Reus Eisner/Sitri Eisner | Byleth's Mother
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	a time for chances

Sitri does not like the idleness of fishing. She prefers movement, whether with her mind, her eyes, her hands. She would take up a sword if her health had permitted it.

Fishing involves hours of sitting. Sitri prefers those hours of sitting with a book. It is unfortunate that she did not think to bring one.

But Captain Jeralt likes fishing. He tells her he likes the simplicity of it. That he can spend hours performing the repetitive action of waiting, waiting, always waiting, before a bite is caught. Captain Jeralt is a man that spends a lot of time waiting. It reminds her of Lady Rhea, sometimes.

Sitri still goes. She knows the invitation was made in jest. Or rather, Captain Jeralt did not expect her to accept it.

But she does. Sitri does not have many friends. She knows he would not have minded if she had not come. But she wants to make friend. She had thought, perhaps, that it will happen to her as some of the books she had read had said. That the goddess will weave instances in one's life in which a chance encounter can blossom into friendship if she can just wait. It had happened once. She has Aelfric now. But to reach out herself is different. Terrifying.

It is not that Sitri does not want to make an effort. It is that she is afraid to.

But Sitri is tired of waiting.

“Huh,” Captain Jeralt says when he sees her approaching the pier, sounding both surprised and not. He makes space for her and pulls out another fishing rod.

Sitri takes it. Listens carefully as he explains how to fix in the bait, throw the line. He tells her to wait.

She tries. She taps her finger on the fishing rod. She watches the ripple of the water.

“Bored?” Captain Jeralt says wryly. His line is pulled and he pulls back. The fish he unhooks shines under the sun. Sitri turns to her fishing line and stares at it intently, but no fish comes for hers.

“I’m pretty sure you’re scaring them.” His voice sounds like he’s smiling. When she looks, he does not, but his eyes are shining.

Sitri huffs and looks back at the lake. She traces the line of the water’s horizon where it meets the edge of the walls. She knows that there is a part there that leads into the greenhouse. The rich water goes into pipes that feed the soil. The fish refuse in the water feeds the plants. The plants grow and feed the people of the monastery, or else grow to look pretty in vases or flower beds until they wilt, never leaving their spot. The last thought makes her feel discomforted. She stops thinking about it.

She flexes her hands. This is far more uninteresting than she anticipated. She contemplates leaving. Captain Jeralt will not mind. He does not seem to care much about anything.

It is a blessing. If he cared more, then he would not like how candid she is, like many people of the monastery do. Instead, when they had first met, he had looked into her eyes, blinked, and then turned to Lady Rhea with a wry smile.

_“I’ve only been gone for a decade, and you already had a kid?”_

It is not the first time she had seen Lady Rhea’s warm expression shutter into something fragile. But it is the first time she had seen Lady Rhea turn to someone else for comfort instead of masking her hurt.

Captain Jeralt saw it, frowned, and guided the conversation back to safer waters.

Sitri does not doubt that as soon as she left, they will talk. It makes something in her throat sting. She has known Lady Rhea all her life, short as it is. And yet....

There is nothing to be done. She does not have that type of bond with Lady Rhea. There are days when Sitri doubts they have a bond at all. Sometimes, Lady Rhea looks at her and sees someone else. Sitri does not know who. She cannot make herself ask.

Perhaps the Captain will accomplish what Sitri has always yearned to do.

Sitri peers at him from the corner of her eyes. Like her, he is watching the lake, patient. Unlike her, he does not seem like he regrets it. In the early afternoon, where the lake shines with the light reflected from the sun, he looks content.

He sighs and bends his neck just so, eliciting a crack that makes her twitch.

“Alright, what do you want?” He turns to her. One of his eyebrows are raised. Sitri feels like squirming once again. How can he make his face move like so? She struggles even to smile most days.

Captain Jeralt coughs expectantly.

Ah. Yes. They are talking.

“Want?” She repeats. She recalls her past few thoughts. “You and Lady Rhea are close?”

“Mmm,” he says, which she will take for a yes. “I owe her a lot, you could say. What about you?”

“All my life.” It is the truth. Even if _All her life_ consists of only a handful of years. The first face she had seen was Lady Rhea’s, bright with hope, and, with a feeling in Sitri's chest that she will later classify as _hurt_ , crumpled in grief. If all of life is a cycle, Sitri wonders if the last face she will see is Lady Rhea’s too.

Captain Jeralt shoots her a strange look, face scrunched. He shrugs. Whatever thought he has rolled away to be forgotten.

“She seems real fond with you,” he tells her. His voice is a soothing rumble. He turns back to the lake. “Half the things she talks about are of you, did you know that?” He does not sound upset. It makes guilt churn in her chest for even feeling... strange of what he and Lady Rhea have.

“I’m glad,” he continues. Does he realize his voice is softer? “From what I can tell, the past few years have been hard for her. Having you around is making her feel better, I think.”

And that—

A curl of warmth settles in her belly. It spreads all around her like a blanket, soft and grounding.

Pleased.

She feels pleased.

Lady Rhea is everything to her. The one to teach her how to live, to guide her in her first few steps as a person—whatever Sitri may be. She does not know what she is, but there are days when she feels like an outsider, separate from everyone else.

It is Lady Rhea who makes her feel welcome, to coax her out of her shell. Sitri has only just barely begun to reach out into this world she is born into. She is thankful for the support she has—of Aelfric, of Lady Rhea. It is nice. To know that she brings Lady Rhea some measure of peace as well.

A jostle in her hands shakes her from her thoughts.

Sitri has just enough awareness to realize something has bitten her hook when the fishing rod is wrenched out of her hands. She watches blankly as her fishing rod skims across the surface of the lake, water parting before it in abrupt waves, before it is pulled under with a loud _‘plop!’_.

Captain Jeralt snorts.

Sitri stares at her hands in betrayal.

“I’ll go get you another one,” he says, amusement clear in his tone. He attempts to pass her his fishing rod as he stands.

Sitri refuses. The thought of doing it again makes her feel hot. Embarrassed.

“The point of this was to teach you how to fish.”

“I will learn by watching.”

“It’ll be easier if—”

“By. Watching.”

Sitri is immediately mortified. Her words sound petulant. Annoyed. It bubbled under her throat and came out like sharp barbs. She is never either of those things. Captain Jeralt had only been trying to be helpful. Failure is part of learning, and yet the first failure she has experienced today makes her want to return to her quiet room and never come out.

But Captain Jeralt does not look offended. Whatever he sees on her face makes him snort again, lips twitching. He settles back down on his seat with a shrug. “Whatever you say.”

Something pulls at his line, and he smiles wider. “Here. Watch me. We’ll try using an actual rod next time if you want, alright?”

He reels back another fish, this one with dark red scales, iridescent under the sun. This time, he does the actions slowly. He explains every step carefully. How to hold the rod properly, how to unhook the fish and put it away, and how to bait the hook once again.

When his hook is back under the water, he explains to her the kind of bait one can use, the behavior of fish she can take advantage of.

All this knowledge is useless to Sitri. She has no motivation to ever try again. At least, not for a while, but she listens.

It feels nice.

“What do you do with the fish?” She asks.

“Salt them. Steam them. Roast them over the fire.” He shrugs. “Maybe hand them off to the kitchens.”

“Do you have a preference?” She asks, honestly curious. Sitri likes cooking. She only has to follow instructions, and when she has mastered that, she can try new combinations. It is easy.

Captain Jeralt makes a gesture with his hand, palm parallel to the ground, tilting it side to side like a boat on the waves. “Fish is fish. Roasting over the fire is easiest though. Especially when you’re travelling.”

His line is caught again. Ridiculous. How can he attract fish so quickly when they had used the same bait? It had taken her approximately 8 minutes to catch even one, and it had absconded with her rod.

“Want to try getting it yourself?” Captain Jeralt offers. The fish dangles from his line, swaying.

Sitri thinks about it. Nods. “I will cook it for you.”

“You don’t need to,” he says, one eyebrow raised at her offer. She feels the unfamiliar bubbling of annoyance in her throat.

“I am a good cook,” she says, because she is. “As thanks for today, I will cook you dinner. Do not decline.”

“You’re not giving me a choice, are you?”

“You do have a choice. I am imploring you to choose the right one.” Part of her feels like showing him that she is skilled as well. Leftovers of her embarrassment over her earlier failure. She does not want to leave him with the impression that she is lacking.

Captain Jeralt rolls his eyes, but he inclines his head in agreement. “Fine, fine. I’ll meet you tonight after I finish training with the knights.”

“Good.”

Sitri reaches out and unhooks the fish, just like he showed her. Both her hands curl around the body when she finally pulls it out. It is smooth and wet. Her grip is firm.

Except.

Sitri has only ever held dead fish, pliant in her hands and ready to be turned into a meal. The fish she grabs is not dead. It flops. It wriggles. When she squeezes harder to keep it still, it shoots up instead, slippery in her hands.

It hits her in the face. The slap of its fins is not hard, but it is surprising. It bounces away from her and lands back into the lake with a splash. The force of it stains the hem of her dress.

She blinks. She does not know what face she makes, but she knows her nose scrunches, her eyes squint, her lips curl. Water drips from her chin.

“Peh,” she says. The taste on her tongue is not nice.

Captain Jeralt stares at her. This is the second embarrassment of the day. What is wrong with her?

But then—

Captain Jeralt _laughs_. Loud and boisterous and so very bright. He slaps his knee as he bends forward, curling inward like he cannot contain the weight of such joy. When he finally looks back at her, he is wiping a tear from his eye, chest still rumbling, the laughter still there, smaller, but no less bright.

“Oh goddess,” he wheezes. “Sitri. Your _face—_ ”

“It did not want to be cooked,” she tells him, because she does not know what else to say but feels the strange strange urge to make him laugh like that again. She is successful. It sends him off into another spiral of laughter.

Captain Jeralt’s laugh is like sunlight. It matches the blonde of his hair and the warmth of his eyes. In her heart, Sitri feels a curl of pleasure for being the reason it is there.

Sitri does not have many friends. In fact, she only has one. Even then, it had been Aelfric to reach out first. To try.

This is the first time she has attempted doing it herself.

If this is what it gets her, then Sitri would certainly like to do it again.

“Catch another,” her mouth says before she can stop it. “I will try again.”

Captain Jeralt smirks, mirth still dancing on his face. “Are you sure? That looked like a real hard slap earlier.”

“Again,” she insists. Her face is hot. Flushed. This does not feel like the embarrassment of before. “Next time, I will make sure to aim it at you.”

Another huff of laughter escapes from his lips. He looks like he wants to laugh again. Sitri is disappointed he does not, but it is fine. If this day goes well, then she will have gained many chances to try anew.

When he smiles at her again, this time, Sitri can feel herself smiling back.

**Author's Note:**

> Need to get my creative juices flowin' again for RS. Decided to write this as practice, though this probably happened in the canon for Rusted Shield, lol.
> 
> \-- Jeralt, thinking: Huh. She must be a probably-immortal like Rhea.  
> \-- I headcanon Sitri came into the world fully an adult like Athena from Zeus. I saw nothing to contradict my hc in canon.  
> \-- Man. It must have fucked Rhea up to watch Sitri walkin' around when she wanted nothing more than for her to be her mom. Mother issues, yo. But Rhea's tryin' her best, probably.  
> \-- Another hc: Jeralt leaves every now and again so that no one notices he's. like. pseudo-immortal. this is fine. probably. not like Rhea needs a minder for when she chachachas back into grief and opens her secret lab again.  
> \-- Jeralt: "So, that Sitri Lady looks a lot like you."  
> Rhea, sweating: "She's my mother."  
> Jeralt: "What."  
> Rhea: "Niece. I meant my mother's niece."  
> Jeralt: "Ah. That makes sense. Cool."  
> Rhea, kicking the carpet to cover the entrance to her secret lab: "Yeah. Cool."
> 
> Thanks for reading! This was such a fun, simple fluff piece to write.


End file.
